


danse macabre

by demios



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Family-friendly body sharing, Fluff, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 00:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16545155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: A sinner returns for All Saints' Wake.





	danse macabre

**Author's Note:**

> ignore the fact that this is late, i am but a snail (and god is salting me)

"You don't  _ have _ to do this. I mean, it's not like I don't appreciate it - and it's not like Rielle won't appreciate it - but if it's something you don't want to do, you don't have to... do it?" One Sidurgu Orl trips over his words again and you almost want to laugh. It's familiarly endearing.

"You worry too much. I  _ want  _ to do this." You crack a wry smile, a near-offensive flash of white amidst the gray stone of Ishgard’s Jeweled Crozier. "Besides, what's All Saints’ Wake without a ghost or ghoul?"

Sid seems to be struggling to grope for the right words and it only fuels your amusement. He makes a frustrated noise, jostling the sack of groceries he has in one arm. “Don't do anything  _ weird, _ Fray." 

Your grin doesn't fade. "Is that a challenge?" 

“Gods - you know what I mean.  _ Conspicuous. _ ” The au ra is making some fruitless gesture with his free hand now. "People will recognize you. Er, them. Both of you."

You give a hearty eyeroll, wondering how far back they can go into someone else's skull. The Warrior of Light has had plenty of practice doing it - you would know. "No need to get your underthings in a twist. I'll be careful. And if something goes wrong, it won't be anything we can't handle." You give yourself a pat on the chest.

“If you say so.” Sidurgu ignores your cockiness and exhales in relief. “And… welcome back.”

He says this each time you surface, the same look of fondness in his eyes under his shaggy hair. It's the one he always gave you when you slipped through the door from the black of night, exhausted and stained with blood that may or may not have been yours, the one you caught a glimpse of in bright limbal rings when you were shucking off your armor and sword before collapsing into the nearest bed or sturdy au ra. You've never been good with the whole sentimentality thing, so you give Sid a punch in the shoulder before leaving him in the dust, armful of groceries and all.

You stroll away from the markets under a clouded sky, acclimating yourself to foreign limbs and the clarity that comes with being in control. You stretch their arms, flex their legs, make a number of unflattering faces, and drink long and deep of the frigid Coerthan air until you decide you don’t feel strange and fresh from the depths of the abyss. It’s not like actually being alive, of course - you roll your shoulders once, then twice - but it’s different from the fragmented existence you’ve led. And how sharing one corporeal form has become a semi-regular occurrence between the two of you, you’re not entirely certain. 

You always offered to take the helm and save them the constant suffering and heartache - you just never imagined it would be to save  _ you _ the same. They know the way you tread near the shallows when you resonate with the shards that someone else left, how you found yourself almost breaching the tenuous membrane each time. 

(“Are you lonely?” They asked as you watched Sid and Rielle from behind the mirror. The two of them laughed, warm and alive and  _ safe  _ under the shoddy tavern roof.

“Of course not.” You tore your gaze away reluctantly. “How can I be lonely when I’ve got the star’s savior to constantly babysit?”

“You just seemed that way.” They said, before tugging you from the mire and taking the plunge themselves. You cursed them a hundredfold for their kindness.)

This time, though, it’s for both of you. They’ve grown fatigued as of late, from accomplishing the impossible and swallowing down the anxiety that comes with losing their allies again. It’s not your intent to eclipse them, but to let them rest, just for a little while. They need it.

You take Sidurgu’s words into loose consideration, refraining from making a scene when Temple Knights stop to thank you for your service to Ishgard or speak of some political development you couldn't give less of a shite about. The Warrior of Light might care about constant pleasantries but you're not them. You give a stoically characteristic nod, the signature one that borders between confused and polite, before quickly making your way to the shabby house stashed in one corner of the Brume.

Your heart softens at the sight of Rielle, who’s sitting at the uneven kitchen table with a mess of pincushions and spools around her.

“We’re back,” Sidurgu says when he catches up to you in the doorway, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the cold. Rielle chirps a greeting from her seat, her head of fluffy blonde hair looking up briefly from her current project. She's sewing again, repairing the tears in her clothes before it truly becomes winter in Ishgard. 

Sid leaves to put the groceries away and you sit across from Rielle, watching her work as you soak in the warmth of the fireplace. She speaks softly while threading the needle through the well-loved fabric of one sweater. "I might ask Miss Ylaine how to make one of her stews later. But for now, I’ve got to get these holes fixed - not freezing to death is more important, don’t you think?"

You hum in agreement, perfectly happy to listen to her stray thoughts. She's always seemed mature for her age - you suppose trauma tends to do that to a child.

“All Saints’ Wake is soon, too. I've heard other places in Eorzea dress up in costumes for the holiday.” Rielle pauses, glancing up at you. "If you had to be something for the Wake, what would you be?"

You take that as your opportunity to make yourself known, pausing for dramatic effect until the crackling fire doesn't obscure your voice. "I'd be a ghost."

A mischievous glint enters your eye and she knows immediately. Windows to the soul and all, no matter how blackened yours is or how trite of a concept it's come to be. "Fray?"

You nod. She senses when you flare up, calling them by your name when you linger longer than is appropriate and let your accent slip into their speech. But this time she knows it’s more you than them, and she gets the same look that Sidurgu does - it makes your chest twinge when worn by her delicate features, makes you want to apologize for leaving even though she’s forgiven you time and time again. 

“Why’d you come visit?” She asks, swinging her legs off the chair giddily with her sweater long forgotten. It's like you've brought her Starlight presents instead of trying to be someone she knew.

“I figured the Warrior of Light could use a break.” You shrug nonchalantly. Which isn’t a lie - you just leave out the part where you also intend to spoil her silly. “Speaking of which, you’ve never had a proper All Saints’ Wake, have you?”

“What do you mean?” Rielle looks at you as though you've sprouted another head, so you elaborate. 

“I don't mean sitting inside praying the Horde won't take us all without the protection of Halone’s exalted. I mean a  _ real  _ celebration, where you don’t have to worry about those sort of things.” Not that the Holy See was particularly festive in the first place - being bereft of the saints for a fortnight meant being more susceptible to Dravanian attacks or heretics sowing chaos. The church, predictably, clings to its old ways even after slaying its thousand-year foe. The distinct lack of blinding orange and tacky decorations in the streets proves as much.

You stand from your seat, cocking your head towards the door. “I say we take a trip to Gridania. It’s infinitely less depressing there than Ishgard.”

“Really?” Rielle’s interest is piqued, just as planned. “Wait, what about Sid?”

“I’ve already bullied him into going.”

“Aye, and you’re still ruthless as ever when it comes to it.” Right on cue, Sidurgu returns and proffers a thick wad of dark fabric towards Rielle, the one you picked up from the market earlier that day. “Here. To keep you warm when we travel across the highlands.”

The cloak is a deep shade of shadowy purple, making her already small form look outright diminutive when she slips it over her shoulders. She gives an experimental twirl, delighted with the way it trails down her legs without being too stifling. You think she looks a bit like a costumed witch when she bounds out the door with Sid in tow. You’re privately curious if Matoya keeps a spare hat anywhere. 

-

The good thing about wearing someone else’s face is that you aren’t given any grief when you finally reach the Gates of Judgement.

“Ah, the ward.” The dutiful knight immediately straightens at the sight of you. “You and your companions may cross.”

The gate draws up, its imposing jaws of steel opening just enough for your group to duck under it. You wonder if anyone actually knows their name. Ward, hero, warrior… they’ve their share of titles - most of them grandiose and exaggerated in some way. You had yours, too, of course - demon, monster, _ heretic.  _ That last one isn’t entirely accurate, because you were anything but consorting with dragons and summoning voidsent, but it was the one that damned you anyways.

There's a fresh layer of snow when you finally reach the open plains, the scattered conifers accented with a dusting of white powder. The worst part about the Calamity, you think, is that you can still remember how things used to be. A vivid and robust green overtook the fields with a brilliant blue overhead. There aren’t any birds now save for monstrous hawks descended from Abalathia’s Spine and the sky constantly shifts between stone and steel on a good day. The wind sweeping across the land is no longer fresh and inviting, just bitterly cold to the point where it singes your lungs.

Luckily, you don't get to dwell on the past for long, because you fall into conversation easier than you thought you would. It's like you've simply picked up where you left off, when Sidurgu and Rielle tell you about what you've missed while away from Ishgard. 

“There was another peace conference with the Dravanians just a moon ago. Vidofnir visited again.” Rielle says with her eyes twinkling and breath making white clouds in front of her. “I didn't have her favorite flowers this time, but I did have some from the Shroud. I think she liked them anyways.”

“There are less screams of terror nowadays when one of Hraesvelgr’s brood lands near the city.” Sid adds. “The children have even taken to playing with her tail and wings. Must make the whole political discussion a bit difficult when you've got orphans poking your scales.”

“Is that more or less distracting than constantly being fawned over by every noble in the Pillars?” You ask.

“You'd have to ask Ser Aymeric about that one.” Sid shakes his head, and you can only wonder how fervent the Lord Commander’s following has become. “How can he carry on when half the city’s trying to court him? If I had that many suitors, I don't know  _ what _ I’d do.”

“Then consider yourself lucky you don't have any.” You toss back. “Must be the hair.”

“It  _ is _ awfully messy.” Rielle chimes in. 

“There's nothing wrong with it,” Sid huffs, even as he takes one strand between his fingers and examines it.

“Of  _ course _ there isn't.” You let the sarcasm drip from your voice. “Except for the part where it looks like an unruly karakul.”

You savor the deeply offended look Sidurgu gives you.

When the forest comes into view, the thick canopy and cool autumn air immediately set you at ease; being veiled by greenery unwinds the knot in your shoulders that comes with walking across the highlands in plain sight. The hum of the Elementals’ presence is familiar under the forest noise, and they welcome you back, too, sensing your aether even though it’s been a long while since you’ve left the Fane. Rielle hops over another thick and gnarled root as you walk, landing in a pile of orange leaves. 

You wonder if she remembers your favorite spots to spirit her away to, where you taught her conjury and watched the aether bud and bloom between her fingers. She’s become quite skilled since you left, and maybe you should be disappointed she doesn’t need you anymore, but you only feel a fluttering sense of pride within your breast. And there’s nothing saying you  _ can’t _ pick apples with her perched on your shoulders again.

When you arrive in Fallgourd Float for the night, you make a point to gripe about the Warrior of Light’s collection of awful decisions while sprinkling in some of their more titillating adventures.

“So their friend - Miss Y’shtola - called the Oronir tribe’s leader  _ that _ right to his face?” Rielle looks a little scandalized, digging her fork into a plate of scrambled eggs. Perhaps she didn't imagine heroes of the realm to have such petty quarrels. Well, Ser Aymeric may be dignified, but that doesn’t necessarily apply to others.

“She's the one of the few with a lick of sense in the Scions. I daresay a jab like that has been long overdue.” You're only too familiar with how keeping your tongue still makes it all the more barbed.

“He sounds like a pompous arse.” Sidurgu snorts before taking another swig of ale from his cup.

“It's much worse in person.” His apparent revulsion makes your lopsided smile grow. “He fancies himself the incarnation of the sun god and the drivel that escapes his mouth is _ insufferable. _ ”

Sid looks nothing short of horrified. “And I thought those sorts were only found in Ishgard, channeling the Fury or whatever god deigned to piss in their breakfast.”

“I was about to take the reins and leave with our friend here if it went any further.” You feel the warrior’s mirth at that, in the depths. “Diplomacy, unfortunately, isn’t all banquets and bards.”

Though, if you’re being honest, you’d rather it stay that way.

-

The first time you brought Rielle to Gridania she had been still mourning you. Now, she wraps her dainty fingers around your hand and swings her arm gently as you cross the wooden gates into the city proper.

Gridania is abuzz with activity, with trees turned gold and vermilion and the streets filled with people. Adders keep the peace, welcoming adventurers and directing them towards the festivities and aetheryte shards. Fufucha and other members of the Botanists’ Guild hand out colored squash and ripe pumpkins to costumed children, the gourds a bright orange and nearly reflecting the mid-afternoon sun. The air is saturated with chatter and merriment - a stark contrast from the near-silent Holy See where the clouds and snow swallow the noise up.

The Amphitheatre is the liveliest as well as the most gaudy. Rielle plops down on one bench in front of the grand stage, eager to rest her legs since she's been walking the better part of the day. You join her and watch the bards weave life into the venue, singing traditional verses in celebration of the season’s harvest. 

Guydelot and Jehantel, the voice in the back of your skull says, drawing your attention towards the two foremost elezen setting the mood. And that might be Silvairre and Leih too, in the back. The former stiffly plucks his harp like the ordeal is making his humors coalesce while the latter digs a pointed elbow into his side. Luciane sits just the bench over, beaming at her archers even as they fidget like children onstage. The performance is a cobbled together collection of poems, songs, and sprightly harvest dances, but serves its purpose regardless.

When dusk falls, the Continental Circus claims the city, the forested paths now brimming with eerie decorations and festival stalls. Fireflies from summer have long gone, leaving only the glowing pumpkins and lit props in the dark. There are advertisements at every turn for their haunted manor, but you'll not have Rielle being turned into a pumpkin on your watch. Thankfully, she has no interest in it, staying by your sides as you scour the city.

Instead, Rielle eyes the games with curious glances, which only leaves one course of action. You and Sidurgu take turns winning her anything from candied treats to intricately carved figures from Gridnania’s finest carpenters. She takes bites of the sweets and gives the toys to younger children who aren't gifted with overzealous dark knights for guardians.

You would bob for apples without a hint of shame if it would make her smile - and you eventually do find yourself leaning over a basin filled with fruit and water. You never imagined your hellish training under Ser Ompagne would be used in such a way. He must be rolling in his grave out of laughter with each red fruit you fish up. One of the mummers watches the whole affair in her striped tights, displeased you’ve an unnatural talent for this. 

“There’s a gold piece down at the bottom if you think you’re lucky enough to get it.” Her impish countenance leers at you, daring you to try.

You were, unfortunately, never one to back down from a challenge. And no, you don't consider tapping into their crystal-blessed strength to be cheating - one adventurous dive later and you sit upright with metal between your teeth, savoring the mummer’s horrified and delighted expression.  _ The things mortals will do for cookies… _

Rielle collects your sugary spoils and brushes your sopping wet hair from your eyes with a wide grin. It's a pity you didn't manage to rope Sidurgu into it, though - you surmise it’s because it would ruin the wiry nest atop his head. He comes over when there's nothing left to dive for, standing over you with an expression that sits between impressed and incredulous. 

“Remind me why I associate with you again?” He asks.

“Sidurgu Orl,” you growl between spitting out water and bits of apple, “you are a coward  _ and _ a bastard.”

“Why, because I don't want to make a fool of myself in the middle of the city?” You don’t miss the hint of amusement tinging his voice.

“Exactly.” You reach for him and he dodges your stray hand, not wanting to get tugged into the basin as well.

Rielle only giggles when you nearly fall in again, the sound of it sweet like windchimes in the breeze.

-

At the Carline Canopy, you watch Rielle’s expression light up from over her plate of half-finished pie, her attention immediately drawn towards the other side of the room.

Sylphie and Gatty greet Rielle like old friends, much to your surprise. Sidurgu said she had been taking conjury lessons under E-Sumi-Yan, but it never occurred to you she might know some of the Warrior of Light’s acquaintances from the guild. Sylphie gives you a puzzled look when she catches sight of you across from Sid. She's been honing her skills as a hearer, last they remember - you can only imagine what sort of writhing abomination your aether must look like. 

You avoid her gaze before she or the Padjal girl can say anything, instead turning your focus to tracing familiar circles of runes into the wood of the table. The motion calms you, with how much you've practiced until you can see the etchings in your sleep.

You take the opportunity to slip away when Rielle isn't looking, not wanting to be recognized for a face that is and isn't yours. You sit wreathed in candlelight when you retreat to an unoccupied corner of the city, just like the days when you wanted to get away from a lecture at the Conjurers’ Guild. Overhead are faux spiders and bats strung across the lanterns with grinning gourds around you. You were never good around crowds, less so when you keep attracting glances that ask, ‘ _ Where have I seen them before?’ _ even in the sea of adventurers.

The quiet affords you the chance to address the thoughts that've been gnawing at you this entire time. Dark knights are guided by their hearts and Fray Myste’s - or what's left of it - says to protect the little family you've pieced together. You told them once that sacrifice is to renounce everything that doesn't matter. What matters to you are the three people you’ve got within your grasp.

And then you feel a little guilty indulging in this, taking things that don’t belong to you - memories that aren’t entirely yours, a body that you obliquely have a right to. You're not whole without them. You never were, even playing the part of ghost.

Sid finds you after giving Rielle a bit of pocket change to spend with her friends from the Fane. His limbal rings glow like the props illuminating the street, except their hue isn’t a bright orange or red. He sits next to you with a great sigh - being an older sibling is more work than he's bargained for.

“It’s tempting, you know.” You say, keeping your voice low. “To just… take you and Rielle and get away from it all.”

“But you can’t stay. Or rather, they can’t.” He finishes for you. The details of your precarious existence are ever unclear, but he understands that much, at least. “Still, it's… comforting, I guess, to have you here.”

“I’m Fray, but not Fray Myste.” You remind him. “I’m half of what you think I am at best.” Which is all the fragments that got caught by your soul crystal when Fray Myste died and little more.

“Half is better than none.” Sidurgu counters. “If this is what’s left - even entangled with someone else - then isn’t that enough?”

You don’t answer. The aether from your soul crystal swirls in idle patterns beneath the surface.

“And besides,” One corner of his mouth curls up into that half-smile that's slowly become more frequent since you left. “They trust you enough to let you do this. So whoever you are, Fray or not-Fray, I trust you, too.”

“...Since when did you stop being so emotionally constipated?” You think it's come with the strange domesticity he's adopted, carting around Rielle like you used to. 

“Loathe as I am to say it, I think those...  _ moogles _ may have rubbed off on me.” He shudders. “And you are  _ not  _ to tell Rielle I said that.”

You take that as your sign to rise from your seat. “Oh, that so? Guess I’ll just have to find her right now.”

“You wouldn't dare-!” That makes him start, his tail flicking behind him in agitation as he jumps to his feet.

“Don't you want to make another wondrous trip to the Churning Mists?” Your expression is outright devious now.

“Short answer? No. Long answer?  _ Hells _ no.” 

A sharp bark of laughter escapes you as you walk away to find Rielle, but this time, you don’t leave Sidurgu behind.

-

The mattresses at the Roost are significantly softer than the ones at Cloud Nine - and it’s to be expected, since they’re stuffed with feathers instead of leftover straw. The inn room smells vaguely like warm confections from the Canopy’s main hall and fresh herbs, which is fitting for the muted peace that's overtaken the room.

You sit at Rielle’s bedside as she burrows beneath the soft blankets. She’s trying to stay awake, to commit the sight of you to memory until you're still there behind her eyelids, but the day’s excitement and lull of sleep under comfortable covers is rendering her efforts futile. She turns her head towards you from where it rests on the pillow.

"Hey, Fray? You can visit whenever you want. I'll make your favorite foods. I'll make their favorites, too." She taps the back of your hand, meaning the adventurer tugging your lips upwards ever so slightly.

“Keep them safe, okay?” Rielle yawns. “They need you.” You know it worries her when they return bearing new scars each time.

No promises, you want to say, because the life of the Warrior of Light is terribly capricious. But you're a part of them and you give the most honest answer you can. “I’ll try.”

She seems satisfied with that, finally dozing off.

You step out of her room and roam through the halls only to find Sidurgu waiting outside the tavern, bathing in the chilled air and starry sky as the merriment dies down. Being alone together like this makes you feel nostalgic. It reminds you of when you’d climb atop crumbling walls and chunks of stone in the Brume, watching the constellations and swirling stardust with him over Ishgard when your master was away.

“The Wake’s ending soon. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You join him in his late night mullings, watching the light from the lanterns and decorations sputter out one by one. “I’d better leave before I start smearing their good name.”

“I don’t think they’d be entirely adverse to that.”  He waves a hand airily. “It’d spare them the constant fetching, anyways.”

You breathe a chuckle before letting the silence settle over you again. “I’ll still be here - just not as corporeal. Though, you seem to be getting on quite well without me.”

You’ve noticed it, through your glimpses through the looking glass. The wound you left is no longer raw and able to hold things like forgiveness and mirth without having them fall out. He’s had to learn how to sear and sew it shut a third time, and you take solace in that fact. He's healing - not perfectly or gracefully, but enough that the scars won't hurt when they've closed. Rielle, too. You knew they would both be fine without you when they reconciled with sword and wand in hand. It just makes you glad to see you were right in person. Sid looks like he wants to say something, but you're not going to give him a chance to say anything sickeningly sentimental. 

You smile at him, this time missing any of your usual bravado. “Take care, Sidurgu. May the flame in the abyss guide you, as it always has.”

You fall into the depths.

-

(“...My jaw hurts. My neck, too. Did they really bob for that many apples?”

“Would it be Fray if they didn't?” 

“I suppose not.” A pause. “Tell them not to be so rough next time. I’m definitely going to be sore at breakfast...”)


End file.
